Swinging Moods

Why wasn't there a band called the Swinging Moods in the Sixties. Never mind. It's how I felt all day yesterday and today. I was reading about the teenagers who were competing in the Maccabiah Games from overseas. Their parents gave them the appropriate training when they were young so that they could excel in their teens. I thought of my Ex-Criminal Daughter who did so well in soccer in Grade 5 and 6. But the school didn't really want her to leave early to play in the games, which were held earlier, because non-religious schools got out earlier than religious schools. And I also couldn't afford the monthly payments. I read about one contestant "I was wild and my parents sent me to train in soccer when I was six years old". Shouldn't I have pushed myself and done that. I know it makes no sense beating yourself up about stuff, but I did it anyways. And what about my high school drop-out daughter who loved jazz. I put her in her jazz class for years, and she was amazing. But two years ago I couldn't afford it and that was the end of her lessons. I was thinking of offering it to her again if she goes back to high school.

And lately not only are Hubby and I on different planets, we're in different galaxies. I get along great with the "others" but not with him. And I felt sad at not being loved to pieces, or even just a tiny wee bit. I read other blogs where women gushed over their men - "he loves me so much, he is so wonderful to me, he thinks I'm the greatest thing on the planet" and I felt pangs of jealousy that it didn't happen to me, that I don't get love notes when I wake up in the morning, etc. but also some glimmer of hope that there is real love in this world even if it has eluded me.

I spent some part of the afternoon writing my British friends and relatives who live in London, asking if they're ok after the terrorist attacks. Now they're the victims and I'm the one who's inquiring. Usually it has been the other way around.

Feeling the way I did, I spoiled myself this afternoon, taking a Pilates class and getting a pedicure afterwards.

I had to rush back because Danish visitors were coming. My home is becoming the settlement Peace Pit Stop for people who want to hear my story, and see stereotypes broken. Around 5 young gorgeous Danish people strolled into my home and my son played the gracious host - as Hubby was fast asleep - he bought chips and candies with his own money for our guests. We thumbed through my photo albums where they saw my personal history unfold - from hardline right winger to a more liberal soul. Every picture tells a story. They saw an entire transformation from a very right-wing hard hitter - with the photos to prove it. My last photo album before I became "digital" shows the final transformation - my son playing soccer with Palestinians in Sheikh Sa'ed neighborhood, near Jabel Mukaber, our family at interfaith retreats, Moslems and Christians at our home for Jewish holidays, etc.

There was a knock at my door and I was reluctant to get it. Probably some rabbi looking for money. Funnily enough it was my friend Abdullah and he couldn't have picked a better time to come. Perhaps these Danes only took my word that I was into peaceful relationships with my neighbors but they really had no solid proof. It was quite amusing timing. They asked why the Jews needed to live here. Why they needed a state. They were in their early twenties, and this wasn't an anti-semitic question, it was a real one. They had no idea and I was the messenger sent to explain our tragic history to them.

I explained to our guests why Jews had to come to Israel, citing many personal examples of anti-semitism in New York, Canada and my parents fleeing Nazi Austria in 1938 - a stroke of luck let them into the US. I began with the Crusades, the Inquisition, the 1880 pogroms in Eastern Europe, the 1920s pogrom in Poland that ended up in the murder of my mother's parents. Yes, we NEED this place as a place of refuge. I don't feel at home in any other country but this. The Jewish holidays are celebrated as national holidays, and there's such a joy in living here during these times of the year. I told them when Hubby got fired in Toronto because his Jewish boss never heard of the holiday of Shavuot and didn't allow him to take off.

And why would I leave a civilized place like Toronto and come to this mixed-up, difficult place. No one in their right minds would do it. It was something beyond explanation, I told them. A spiritual pull.

By 10:30 the guests left and I bid farewell to Abdullah too. The bus arrived and while they were busy shaking my hand goodbye, the bus driver just figured "fuck it" and the bus started to leave. I told these people, never mind shaking my hand and saying goodbye. There's always e-mail. You need to catch your bus and the bus drivers here are the most impatient in the world.

I hope they understand a few things better now.